


The House of Eyes

by Eternallost



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arson, Banter, Countess, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Haunted Houses, Spirits, Spooky, Teasing, Trick or Treating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/pseuds/Eternallost
Summary: The House of Eyes, that’s what they call it. Not only for the strange depictions on the walls and the windows, but for the feeling of being watched that follows you long after you leave.
Relationships: Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	The House of Eyes

“Violet, **don’t!**” Klaus stretched out his hand to stop her.

She turned; her brow raised. “What’s wrong, Klaus? Aren’t we trick or treating?” she tilted her head, “That house over there has the best decorations so it’s safe to assume that they have the best candy.”

“Those aren’t decorations,” he shivered.

“Mary Shelley,” Sunny murmured, a little bat clutching her brother’s ankle.

“Interesting,” Violet’s eyes were alight. “Why the architecture is reminiscent of something from a Victorian novel. I wonder what kind of antique inventions they have inside, a manual dumbwaiter? Servant bells that ring for each room?”

Her brother spoke up, “I’ve done the research, Violet. It’s not worth exploring. There’s something… evil… inside.”

“Evil? Like an evil spirit?” Violet put her hands on her apron. “Klaus, I thought you were logical.”

“I am logical,” he adjusted his powdered wig, a little less sure, “at least the historians were.”

Violet hummed. “All right, I’ll bite. What’s the story?”

He took a breath. “The House of Eyes, that’s what they call it. Not only for the strange depictions on the walls and the windows, but for the feeling of being watched that follows you long after you leave.”

Violet scoffed.

Klaus continued, “A long time ago a wealthy noble family lived in that house, a mother, a father and their only child. And they spoiled him rotten. They gave him everything he asked for and so much more. The blueprints of the house even show a theatre inside, that catered to his hobby of acting.”

“A theatre! In there?” Excitement renewed in Violet at the thoughts of the lights and pulleys and catwalk.

“At least, there was.”

“Was? What do you mean there was?”

“Can’t you see the scorch marks? The open roof? It was burned, Violet. Arson.”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“It was him.”

“Him who?”

“The Count,” Klaus covered Sunny’s ears, “the only child of the noble family was denied his fortune when no Countess would accept his hideous behavior. After one night of drinking when he believed his mother and father to be away on holiday he decided to burn the house for the insurance money, which he’d placed in his name. His mother and father slept inside, arriving home early that night to see their precious boy, only to be burned alive.”

“The Count,” Violet preempted, “What happened to The Count?”

Klaus swallowed. “He slit his throat in grief.” He took his hands from Sunny’s ears. “They say you can still see the mark if you get him to take off his tie.”

“Klaus,” Violet took her brother’s hands, “That has to be the most ridiculous story I have ever heard. It sounds like you were in the wrong section of the library again.”

“Hey!” He stood his ground.

“You’ve made that mistake before, haven’t you?”

“I was six,” he readjusted his glasses.

“Or perhaps you’re playing a Halloween trick on me,” she smiled. “Either way I’m going to take a look.”

“What?” Klaus’ eyes grew wide. “After everything you’ve just heard?”

“After all that, how could I not?” she winked as she sped towards the house.

“You’ve gone mad!” Her brother called distantly behind her.

Violet knocked once. Twice. The only answer was crickets. The knocker was off its hinges anyway. She examined the doorbell, glancing back at her siblings before giving it a ring. The melancholy bells chimed inside and Violet wanted to examine what they looked like. _Was it abandoned_? She pressed the door lightly, it opened with no interference. She paused to look back at Klaus and Sunny, “I’m just going to look around!” She hollered. “Call mother and father if I take more than twenty minutes. It could be old and dangerous, so I don’t want you two following me.”

“Take your own advice!” Klaus warned from across the street. Perhaps she should have.

She grabbed an old candle from the wall and lit it with the matches she kept in her apron pocket, among the Swiss army knife, screws, and rope. As soon as she lit it, she could see how the house got its moniker. “Eyes,” she spoke as she examined the beautiful sorrow they held.

“The windows to the soul,” A voice spoke behind her.

“Oh!” she jumped, her candle flickering. She turned to examine an older man; lean, a strong, stubbled jawline, a receding, peppered hairline with hair that defied gravity. And eyes. Shiny, shiny eyes. Though she could not perceive their color in the dark. “Do you always lurk in the dark?”

“Do you always break and enter?” He asked mischievously.

“The door was open.” She backed up, her foot hitting a wall. “So, trick or treat?”

“So eager for candy you burst into strangers houses unannounced? Or is it just my house you’re so eager for?” His broad hand pressed on the wall beside her head, quickening her pulse. “We both know you’re too old for trick or treating. But, since you were kind enough to ask, I’ll take a treat.”

“That’s,” she swallowed, “that’s not how this works.”

“How does this work, Violet?” His eyes shifted between hers, “Do tell.”

“How did you know my name?”

“You’re shivering, are you cold? Would you like me to… start a fire?”

Violet’s eyes grew wide.

“_Please_.” He threw his hand over his shoulder in a gesture as he returned to the shadows. A disembodied voice, “I heard all you brats had to say, right outside my own door no less.”

“I… I didn’t believe any of it.”

“No?” He came back into the light.

“No.” Her back grew straight. “Not at all.”

“Then you wouldn’t be trying to catch a glimpse of what’s beneath my tie,” he ran a bony finger along the fabric, “now, would you?”

Violet shrugged. “Why should I care?”

“Why, indeed.” His grin grew. “And why should you care, as you say, if you were stuck in a dilapidated house with a ghost whose qualm in life was not securing a beautiful. Young. Countess?” His teeth shone as he leaned over her candle.

She looked over each shoulder for the girl in question.

“Forget it,” he sighed as he walked away. “My good looks are lost on you anyway.” She watched as he threw tinder in the fireplace with no walls surrounding the brick, struck a match on his shoe, and collapsed into a tattered armchair. He looked over his shoulder once. Twice. “What are you still doing here? Get lost.”

She moved forward. “You don’t actually live here, like this… do you?”

“I wouldn’t call it living,” he sunk deeper as he warmed his feet.

  
“Exactly! Why don’t you leave? Sell the house or rebuild? Do something!”

He stood then, so fast she didn’t see him get up. “As. You. Said. Why should you care, little Violet?”

“I…”

“And how, may I ask, will you take responsibility if you do? Your silky hair, your clean clothes, your entitled attitude- your parents are _awfully_ rich, aren’t they?”

Violet closed her eyes, his breath beside her ear. “What do you say, Violet? Can you buy me a new house? I promise,” he purred, “_I’ll pay you back_.”

“Stop it!” Her hands pressed forward, catching air. She gulped as she saw him still standing by the old chair.

“Leave.” The Count instructed. “Now. Before it’s too late.”

“Fine!” Violet spun on her heel. “I know when I’m not welcome.”

“Good riddance.”

“Don’t think that you're rid of me yet! I’ll be back.”

“_Hah!_” she heard him shout. “Just like the best of pests.”

“And I’ll help you fix that lock. And that knocker. And whatever else catches my fancy.”

The hall was quiet sans the roaring of the fireplace. A response she took as acceptance. Without further ado, she stepped into the night.

Safe among the crickets, she swore she heard from the crack in the door, “And if I catch your fancy, dear Violet? Would you fix me?”


End file.
